


Almost No Regrets

by carroussella



Series: Love Triangle [1]
Category: Flashpoint
Genre: F/M, Love Triangle series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-30
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carroussella/pseuds/carroussella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Listening to her sing is something I will never regret. Spoilers for 3x03 “Follow the Leader”, 3x04 “Whatever It Takes”, 3x10 “Terror”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This series is probably the only work of fiction that I have ever put so much effort into – rewatching episodes (that’s not the hard part), transcribing, writing episode notes, pausing at each and every moment. It took me 2 ½ hours just to finish going through “Terror” and writing notes on it. So it was preparation-intensive, very exhausting, but very, very, very satisfying so I’m not complaining.
> 
> The inspiration for this series comes from one of my long-time favorite fic authors from another fandom, who wrote beautifully about the same relationship from the POV of three characters. I am shamelessly borrowing her idea and adopting it to our favorite FP couple, and I hope I do her justice.
> 
> Part 1 of a 3-part series, seen from Steve Morgan’s point of view. We don’t hear too much about him, or know much about him, so I am taking quite a lot of liberties with him (and his past “relationship” with Jules) that may or may not be canonical. I think Steve Morgan is a great guy… he just wasn’t there first. In another time, another place, I think he and Jules would be great together. Just sayin’.
> 
> P.S. And just so you know, I had Amy Jo’s “Puddle of Grace” playing on loop in the background as I wrote the prologue.

The night is just beginning to shed her coat of darkness, and a brilliant red-orange hue is streaking across the sky, the warmth of the morning sun’s rays meeting my lifted face and infusing my body with a strange sort of contentment.

It’s been a long night, a night I will never forget, simply because a night like this happens only once in a lifetime. You never forget your high school graduation.

As much as I love my friends and enjoy their company, the many hours of heavy beats and loud music have started grating on my ears and nerves. I would much rather prefer a quiet night out on the town, having a great conversation with my friends over a large pepperoni and cheese pizza, with soda on the side.

But of course, this is high school. And nothing is more superficial – yet equally poignant – about attending your high school graduation party. Getting all dressed up to the nines, in a rented tuxedo, choosing a corsage for your date, it’s all part of the process of growing up. Attending your high school graduation prom is a ritual that no one should ever miss. One last night out on the town and all that.

So after paying my dues as an honor-roll member of the graduating class, I am all ready for some me-time, away from the horde of girls who are clamoring for a picture and from the mindless conversations over who looks hotter in her prom dress.

I manage to escape from the clutches of my friends, heading to the rooftop because it seemed like the only place that has escaped the thumping beats. I’ve never really been up here before, and now I wonder why I waited so long to discover this gem. It’s quiet, peaceful, the complete opposite of the what’s happening just three floors down.

I look down at my watch – a graduation gift from my old man – and give a small start at the time. It’s 5a.m. Time sure does pass quickly when you’re having fun, and I didn’t even notice that I was enjoying myself.

I wander around, looking for a suitable place to sit and watch the sunrise – it’s almost that time of the day. It doesn’t bother me that I have no one to share this moment with; after countless relationships, I’m all ready to take a break and just be on my own for now.                                                                                                          




A soft hum reaches my ears before I take another step, and I pause mid-step. _Who else is up here?_ I thought I was the only one. I’m a little annoyed that my secret hiding place is evidently not so secret after all, but before I can think of an alternate location to be alone, a melody fills the air.

The guitar chords are slow, gentle, infused with an almost melancholic-like quality that has me transfixed, rooted to the spot. Then a soft voice joins the music, the sound like a breath of fresh air washing over me.

I crane my neck to look for the singer, and I see her, sitting alone on the far side of the parapet, staring out into the horizon as her voice carries over the building. She hasn’t noticed me, so I feel safe standing where I am, hidden from her view by what looks like a water tank.

She has her eyes closed, her face tilted towards the rising sun. She’s still singing, but the words are a blur to me as I observe her. _It’s Julianna Callaghan_ , I realize, when she turns slightly in my direction. I scoot back behind the tank, afraid that I would be discovered.

I’ve never really known Julianna Callaghan, despite the fact that we’ve known each other nearly all our lives. I know she’s been a permanent fixture since middle school, and that she has four older brothers who play hockey. But besides that, she’s as good as stranger to me. The notion is odd, because the Hat is not a very big town, and the high school-attending population is even smaller. We’ve crossed paths in the past; in the same chemistry lab, same English class… but now it’s beginning to dawn on me that we’ve never stopped to chat before.  

There were some rumors going around in the gym just hours ago that she had just been dumped by Curtis, the class jerk. Some girl heard them arguing outside, and from there the news spread like wildfire. I never understood why they were dating; Julianna just didn’t seem like the kind of girl to put up with Curtis’ chauvinistic tendencies. Still, she was not my friend, nor was I hers, so that relationship was none of my business.

The strangest thing is – if you ask me now to tell you three things about Julianna Callaghan, I would be tongue-tied. Yet standing here, listening to her sing, her voice a mellifluous sound, I feel all the distance between us fading away. It’s such a contradiction; I know Julianna as a tough-as-nails girl who takes no nonsense, a by-product, I suppose, of living with four brothers. This gentle side of her is one that she hardly shows, and the vulnerability is pouring off her in waves.

It makes me feel like I _know_ her, and though I still can’t hear the words of her song, I feel a strange tugging in my heart. There is some music that speaks to you on a deeper level, music that you simply connect with, without knowing why, and Julianna’s song is one of them.

As I continue appreciating her song in silence, a pang of regret fills me. Regret that I will be graduating from high school without getting to know Julianna, whom I now know isn’t like the rest of the girls, who are more concerned with the shallow aspects of life. Regret that tomorrow – or rather later today – I will be leaving for the big city, leaving all this – and her – behind.

Her song winds down, her voice fading away into the early morning as she reaches the last line, and a smile crosses my face. _Almost no regrets_ , I think to myself.

Listening to her sing is something I will never regret.

 ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *


	2. Chapter 2

It’s another day in Toronto, another day in my life as a paramedic. Today we’ve been called out to what looks like an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, and inwardly I groan. Dispatches to areas like these never turn out good – it’s either gunshots, or a stabbing, or a dead body to be claimed. We normally leave the last one for the coroner’s guys, but being first responders means that we still have to be on scene to make sure the guy has really drawn his last breath.

From a distance I see the flashing red and blue lights, which is a surprise because the cops are usually there after us. For some strange reason, they prefer to let us arrive first, take stock of the scene, before they start moving in. There are several black SUVs dotting the sparse parking lot, another surprise. Some top secret operation must have taken place here; this isn’t your run-of-the-mill crime scene with squad cars around.

My colleagues in the other ambulance have already arrived, and they’re setting up a temporary medic zone, attending to injured people. More than half a dozen of them are lining up in front of a bus, and another quarter dozen are waiting for medical treatment.

My partner Travis and I jump from the ambulance as soon it’s stopped, and Lani, the medic from the other ambulance, waves us over to her.

“Get those people,” she gestures over to a bunch of college-age kids who are sporting bruises and cuts. _What the hell went down here?_ These people don’t look old enough to have graduated from smoking pot.

Travis and I immediately get down to our jobs, wrapping gauze over cuts, and as I examine some wounds more closely, I realize that no knife could have caused these injuries. Only a firearm. Astonished, I stare again at the young boy in front of me, who couldn’t have been more than 21. Is it even legal for him to carry a gun? 

Travis nudges me, and I snap out of my thoughts. It isn’t my place to judge, just to treat. That was for the police, the lawyers, the jury, but not me. Most definitely not plain old paramedic me.

Several police officers are making their way towards us, all of them clad identically in Kevlar and dark combat pants. Despite the distance between us, they reek of gunpowder. A fierce firefight must have occurred before we got here, and as I look around more closely, I notice the presence of the coroner’s van, already loaded with several body bags. They certainly did rake up the body count.

One of the police officers beckons me with a loud “Hey!” and when I look up, he gestures towards another bald officer standing next to him, who’s clutching his arm. I start to get up, intent on treating the officer before I’m done with this kid, but the second officer waves me back down. “I’ll wait my turn,” he calls.

I shrug, and then finish wrapping the kid’s arm. The bandage is a little too tight, and he hisses in pain, but I ignore him. _That should teach you to play with guns_ , I scoff.  I make no apologies for my attitude; in my line of work, I’ve seen the horrible damage that guns can inflict on others, and I have little sympathy for those who misuse their firearms.

After I send him off on his way into the waiting arms of a uniformed cop, I look around for the injured officer. There’s reluctance in his step, as if he has someplace better to be. I suppose he has, since over the cacophony of voices I hear that some people have escaped. It’s not a good day for him.

He takes off his vest, and I cut through the sleeve of his shirt, exposing the bleeding injury. To my relief, the bullet has merely grazed his skin. It’s neither serious nor life-threatening, although the amount of blood seeping from it might convince you otherwise.

“You’re lucky,” I tell him. “The only lasting damage will be a nice little scar.”

He grunts in response, his attention diverted elsewhere. I get the message; he doesn’t want to talk, so I busy myself with cleaning the wound and applying disinfectant.

“How’s he doing?” A female voice. I was so engrossed in what I was doing that I didn’t even see or hear anyone approach us.

Before I can answer, the officer in front of me deadpans: “He’s fine.”

I glance up, giving a cursory “Yeah” in agreement, still focused on my task. But then the locks of brown hair catches my eye, and I take a second glance.

“Julianna.”

I can’t believe it. Julianna Callaghan, the Jewel of the Prairie, is standing right in front of me. _What’s she doing here?_ It’s a long way from the Hat.

I take in her attire, and it’s then I realize she’s clad in exactly the same outfit as the other officers – Kevlar, combat boots, grey fatigues, with a gun strapped to her thigh. Very different from the jeans and heels she used to sport back in high school, but she looks very much at ease in this outfit. Julianna Callaghan, a police officer. Who would have imagined?

A smile crosses Julianna’s face, recognition lighting her brown eyes. I’ve never noticed how her eyes sparkle when she’s happy.

“Steve Morgan.” I hear my name on her lips, and it sounds strangely melodic, as if she’s singing and not merely saying my name.

“No way!”

I see the surprise cross her face and I know it’s mirrored across mine; we never expected to see each other here, in the city, much less run into each other at a crime scene. We laugh, the sound a tad awkward. It’s the combined sardonic humor of two strangers who haven’t seen each other for a long time bumping into the other again. I remember the last time I saw her up on that rooftop, and a sense of embarrassment comes over me as I wonder if she ever discovered my presence.

She hasn’t said anything in response, and I realize she’s just as at a loss for words as I am. I break the impasse the only I know how – by retreating back to official business. Indicating her colleague, I tell her: “He needs to get stitched at the hospital.”

The other man bristles at my suggestion. “Nah, nah. Just patch it up. I’ll get it done later.”

“Boss…” Julianna’s tone holds a warning, and a plea.

“Just don’t want you to risk infection,” I tell him. It’s true. A simple in-and-out wound like this isn’t serious, but any subsequent infection could cause a whole lot of trouble.

“It’ll be fine for a few hours,” he protests. I offer to grab him a painkiller to take the edge off, but he brushes me off. “Nah, no, no, no. I’ve gotta keep the mind sharp.”

Beside me, Julianna lets out a sigh of frustration, as if she’s been through this before. I see the rise and fall of her chest, and the faint scent of her perfume reaches my nose, a small sign of the femininity she retains while residing in a man’s world.

She catches sight of me staring at her, and I give a slight shake of my head, embarrassed about being caught. “You haven’t changed,” I offer as way of explaining away my actions.

She studies me for a while, and not for the first time, I wonder what she’s thinking. “Neither have you.”

I’m vaguely aware of her Boss studying us carefully, his eagle eyes missing nothing, I’m sure. I laugh again, trying to break the silence and relieve some of the tension I feel with him hovering so near.

“I’ll be right back,” I tell them. Well, actually just Julianna. At this point, I don’t think I’m too concerned about him. “I’m just gonna grab some stuff.”

I start moving away, but Julianna’s smile stops me. I can’t escape from the light in her face, nor do I want to.

“We should…” I begin tentatively. _Should I even be broaching this topic to her here? Now?_ She says nothing, but her smile gives me courage to say the words. “We should catch up.”

Her answer is flippant. “’Kay.”

Before I can say anything else, her boss interrupts. “Yeah, later.” He sounds a little annoyed, and he has every right to be, since I have been ignoring him and his bleeding wound.

I hurry back into the ambulance to grab more supplies, and out of the corner of my eye I see Julianna still standing there, watching me. Excitement that I haven’t felt in a long time fills me, and it isn’t just because I’m catching up with an old friend.

 ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *


	3. Chapter 3

I've never changed out of my uniform so quickly before, and I vaguely acknowledge the haste of my actions as I pull on jeans and a t-shirt. I heard on the radio that the police successfully defused three bombs downtown, and somehow I know Julianna and her team were responsible for that.

I want to catch her before she leaves work, because I have no idea where she stays, or even how to contact her again. I forgot to ask her for her number earlier when we met, but then again, it wasn't a very appropriate situation to be asking a girl for her number.

My car races through the streets, and the imposing police headquarters rises up before me faster than I expected. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins, and my blood is humming with eager anticipation.

The reception directs me upstairs to level 13, where the SRU is sequestered. I step out of the elevators not a moment too soon, because I spy Julianna and some other guys – the rest of her team, I'm guessing – with their backs towards me.

"Hey, erm, Julianna," I call out, suddenly unsure of myself. Why am I here?

Juliana turns, surprise etched on her beautiful features. "Oh! Hey!"

"Hey." I can't help it; my smile grows wider at the sight of her. She's out of her work clothes, now looking a little more like the Julianna I know. She's let her hair down, and she looks more carefree than she did this morning.

"Hi," she greets me. The other guys behind her have stopped walking, and now the two of us are being subjected to some serious scrutiny. They're probably wondering who I am to her, what I'm doing here, and truth be told, so am I.

Julianna looks at a loss for words, and she resorts to making little sounds. She does that when she's nervous, and when she doesn't know what to say. I remember now, how she used to sputter during math class when she didn't know the answer. She clears her throat, drawing my attention. "Erm, Steve. I want you to meet the guys."

I continue smiling at her – it's all I seem to be able to do – and it takes a bit of an effort to draw my eyes away from her. She's indicating the guys behind her, and I notice her pause.

I sneak a look in the direction she's gesturing, and a blonde man comes into view. Has he always been standing there? I'd never noticed him earlier.

My gaze shifts back to Julianna, and her slight pause begins to stretch. She's looking at the blonde man, and he at her, and some sort of unspoken conversation is happening between them.

"Sam," I hear her say, and the blonde man gives me a quick nod before averting his gaze, as if he doesn't want to see me, hear me, or be anywhere near me. Julianna continues introducing the others, but I barely hear her, pondering Sam's actions. He certainly is a rude one.

Sarge is saying something, and Julianna nods, so I just mimic her. "We went to high school together back in the Hat," she explains. No doubt Sarge recognizes me as the paramedic from this morning who left his patient to bleed out because he was flirting.

I smile at Julianna's explanation, memories of the old times resurfacing. "Jewel of the Prairie," I say softly, just for her ears only. It's an old nickname, and judging by her mock salute, she hasn't forgotten how embarrassing it is.

"Erm. Yeah. So, anyway. We talked about catching up."

Mentally, I smack my forehead. Way to go, Steve. I sound like a total idiot in front of her friends.

She hesitates, and I give myself another smack. It's beginning to dawn on me that she's reluctant to do this here, no doubt because she had already made plans with her friends, and no doubt because she would probably get teased over my presence. I'd put her in an awkward position of having to choose between her new friends and an old maybe-friend. I'm still not sure who I am to her.

Her gaze flickers to Sam, and again they share a look, unspoken words between them. Why does she need to ask for his permission anyway? I find myself getting a little irritated, but I clamp down on the emotion before it can fester.

"You know what? We're gonna go to The Goose cos it was a really big day," Julianna explains, and it takes me a while to understand that she's extending an invitation. To me.

Sarge catches on. "Do you wanna come with us?"

There's nothing more awkward than crashing on a party to which you were initially uninvited, and later issued a reluctant invitation. I know when I'm not welcome, so I decline the offer and instead tell Julianna: "We'll do next time."

She stares at me for a long moment, her big brown eyes probing my own. "Next time," she promises.

I watch as the guys file out with Julianna in their wake, and my disappointment dissipates when she turns back to give me one final look.

Next time, indeed.


	4. Chapter 4

People are loitering around the building, high school students filtering out of their classes after the events of the day. Dispatch told us to be on standby, so Travis and I had dutifully sped out to the school and watched as events unfolded.

Some kid stood on the roof in an apparent suicide attempt, and for a moment in time, my mind flashes back to the last time I stood on the roof of my high school building. Unlike him, however, my memory of that time is a happy one; one that has been keeping me awake recently.

I wonder if Jules will ever know how grateful I am to have caught her solo performance on the roof that night, and how grateful I am that life has given me another chance at getting to know her properly.

And yes, we've moved from "Julianna" to "Jules" and truth be told, I'm not sure when the transition happened. One evening, during post-work coffee, I casually dropped the nickname – one which I heard her colleagues use – and she didn't seem bothered by the familiarity. I remember her eyes widening in a little surprise, but then she smiled and made no mention of it. She hasn't called me anything but "Steve", though I don't suppose there's a shorter form of my name she could use.

Looking around me again, from my vantage view on the ground, I spy Sarge standing on the rooftop, no doubt trying to convince the kid to step away from the ledge and live to see another day. Jules has told me more about her team and what they do over copious amounts of coffee, and I have started appreciating the roles they play. I see Wordy standing a few feet away, binoculars in his hand, watching his teammates closely.

But I don't see Jules anywhere. She could be in the command truck, a position she tells me she's in most of the time nowadays. I'm secretly glad that she's there. That way, she is out of harm's direct path, and I like knowing that she is safe. I would never tell her that to her face though, because I know Jules is sensitive about things like that. She likes to be considered as one of the guys, equally as capable, equally as strong. If there's only one thing I've learnt about Jules these past few weeks, it's that she doesn't like people hovering over her. She can't help it; it's a result of having four overprotective brothers who jump to your defense at the smallest thing.

Thinking about her automatically puts a smile on my face, and Travis gives me a disgusted look. I probably look like some creep, smiling to myself. I can't help it; I finally have a date with her tonight. After all our other attempts at coffee and just hanging out, I finally mustered enough courage to ask her out on a date. An official date.

Which I hope will bring our not-so-new friendship to the next level. God knows I'm ready for that, although I still sense some hesitation on her part. I've taken things slowly these past few weeks, hoping to put her more at ease with the idea of us. But it seems that the closer we get, the more she tries to draw away. I'm not really sure what's the reason for that, but I'm determined to find out. Just as I'm determined not to let her slip from my grasp again. I wasted too much time in high school, and I don't want to waste any more.

Travis moves from his perch, and I follow his line of sight. The rest of Jules' team have started exiting the building, and I guess this means that it's over and they've either saved or shot someone. I haven't heard anyone call for EMS, so I presume that all's okay. I breathe a sigh of relief; it's always good to know that situations like these can be resolved without violence or anyone getting hurt.

Sam is picking up his gear and walking back to the van, and out of nowhere, Jules calls out to him. I'm too far to hear their conversation, so I just watch.

I watch as he turns at her voice, and how he doesn't stop for her. I watch as she runs to catch up with him, talking all the way. Her lips are moving a mile a minute, and I see the fatigue in Sam's shoulders as he listens to her without saying a word. It makes me wonder what they're talking about.

Then Jules says something to Sam, and he suddenly stops, his eyes bright. They bore holes into her, and I start feeling uncomfortable at the intensity of the stares they are exchanging.

"Jules!" I call out, interrupting their conversation. "Hey there!"

Both of them turn, Jules in surprise and Sam in irritation, as if he's annoyed that they were interrupted. His expression turns even more hostile when he catches sight of me, if that's possible. He obviously hasn't had a good day.

"Hey! You again!" Is it just me, or do I hear sarcasm in Jules' voice? She sounds a little stressed, and maybe even a little unhappy at my presence. I'm taken aback; I thought she would be overjoyed to see me after a long day.

"Steve." Sam sounds as enthusiastic as he looks to see me. The half-smile that was on his face earlier has disappeared, and it confirms what I'm already suspecting: he has secret smiles for Jules, and Jules alone.

I try to cover up his lack of enthusiasm by going overboard on my chirpiness. "How's it going man?"

Sam doesn't say anything, just merely nods in response. I've probably overstepped the boundaries of friendliness with this man, but at this moment, I don't really care. I just want him gone, away from Jules, away from me.

He turns to Jules. "I've gotta go talk to Spike."

They exchange another long look, and suddenly I'm feeling like the outsider with my girlfriend-to-be and her secret lover. What is going on between them? Sam couldn't wait fast enough to get away from me, and Jules is looking like she wishes he wouldn't leave.

Jules watches him walk away, and I catch sight of the wistful half-smile on her face. There's a tinge of regret, and jealousy surges through me. I pray fervently that she doesn't share a history with Sam, hoping against hope that what my gut is telling me is false.

When she turns back to me, Sam momentarily forgotten, a huge grin that I'm not really feeling appears on my face.

"So what do you say?" I ask her. "Burger and fries? At the old place?"

Jules is pensive, her hesitation painfully obvious. "I don't know, Steve," she finally replies. "That was a long time ago."

That's exactly the reason why I wanted to bring her there. To remind her of the memories we've shared, the people we've grown up with, and the future we could have together. To bring her back to a time where Sam didn't exist, and we were just two high school kids.

"Yup." I tell her none of the real reasons why I want to bring her there. They will be my secret to keep.

Then suddenly, a mischievous look enters Jules' eye - a look I've come to know far too well - and she issues a challenge. "Think you can do better than that?"

I laugh, and she laughs, the sound music to my ears. The cloud that Sam brought has shifted away, and this is the Jules I know and I love.

I could definitely do no better than this.


	5. Chapter 5

The sun is out in full force this Friday afternoon, its rays beating down on my back and making me wonder for the umpteenth time that day just why I decided to go with a jacket. I'm kidding myself – I know exactly why, and the reason is standing next to me, clapping her hands in glee as I stand in line to get us both ice cream.

Jules looks much younger than her 36 years when she smiles like that, the corners of her eyes crinkling in obvious enjoyment. I feel another sort of warmth seep through me, and looking around, I realize this is what contentment feels like. A day off, no work and no worries, and lunch with Jules.

We were talking about one of her performances when she suddenly spotted the ice cream truck. Although she didn't say anything – and she doesn't have to – I could tell she was longing for a cone. That's the thing about Jules. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and you just have to know her better before every emotion she feels is visible across her face and in her deep set eyes.

Well, nearly every emotion, that is.

She thanks for me the ice cream cone, her favorite chocolate and vanilla twirled together, a little tidbit I gathered from her on our first "date".

"I can't believe you remember that," she says, continuing our earlier conversation.

"Are you kidding me? You singing 'Everybody Hurts'?"

That had been a long time ago, when she was still dating Curtis and I was dating… well, I don't remember dating anyone at that point in time. I was hanging out with the guys, and they suggested hitting up Michael's Joint, the local burger shack. Jules had been there with her band, and it was a performance I wouldn't be forgetting anytime soon.

"Well, I couldn't take my eyes off you, so…" That was then, and this is now. She was beautiful, even then. Age has made her even more beautiful, life's experience giving her eyes more depth, more color.

"Are you sure it didn't have anything to do with what I was wearing?" She's teasing me now, and a chuckle bubbles up my throat.

"Ah… black leather mini skirt, white tank top…" I trail off, a little embarrassed that I can still remember every little detail of that night. That was probably the first day in my life that I was aware of her existence. The guys had gone on and on about how hot she was (and trust me, I noticed too), but she had really captivated me that night, and it wasn't just with her choice of clothes.

That night however, cannot compare to another memory I have of her. A secret memory that I've held in my heart all this time, little a hidden treasure that I've been so afraid to unearth for fear that its unveiling might lead to its disappearance.

But now… I feel like I can't keep it from her anymore. I can't not tell her. I want her to know that this attraction – or whatever it is between us – is not something new, something that merely blossomed over time spent apart. I want her to know that there is a past behind us, and hopefully, that will show her that there's a future in front for us.

"I've got a confession," I tell her. She looks at me quizzically, waiting for me to continue.

I take a deep breath, then the words that I've kept inside me for so long comes rushing out. "Your best show. 5 a.m. Morning after graduation. On the roof of the gym."

I sneak a look at her, and she has this horrified, disbelieving look on her face. My heart sinks. All she can say is: "What?"

For a moment, I think she doesn't remember, or doesn't know what I'm talking about. I try to jog her memory. "You just got dumped by Curtis at that party."

Jules opens her mouth as if to say something, then seems to think the better of it and closes her mouth. She's slightly embarrassed, I can tell. "God, I don't believe this."

"Took your guitar, you went up to the roof, and you came up with this really gentle song," I smile fondly at the memory, remembering how her soft voice echoed through the early morning air.

"You were up there?"

"Sorry," I give her a rueful grin, though I'm not really sorry about having witnessed that magical moment. "It's just after I heard that, I thought… I felt like I knew you."

Oh god. What have I just said? Gee, Steve. Why don't you just go on and scare the girl like you've been stalking her for years?

Jules hesitates, and although she's smiling, I see a faint trace of sadness in her smile. I want to probe further, to ask about it. I want to know everything about what makes her sad, what makes her happy, what makes her cry, but I don't have a right. We might have been seeing each other for a while, but there is still some part of Jules that I cannot reach. A part of her that she closes off from me.

So instead, I torture myself by pressing on. "You know, there's this wine tasting thing next weekend. I was thinking, maybe we could go?"

Please say yes. Please say yes. It's been a while since we last hung out, and I'm surprised that Jules even agreed to this date at all. For the past two weeks, she has been a little distant. I chalked it off as exhaustion; after all, she does work 12-hour days. But now, a sneaking feeling is beginning to creep up my spine and I don't like it.

Her answer is there in her hesitation. I stumble over myself to reassure her. "We don't have to stay over," I hear myself saying, trying to pass of the invitation as a friendly one. "It could just be a day trip up. Was just thinking cos we haven't seen each other for a while."

A flash of guilt immediately crosses her face, and it disappears as fast it appeared. My heart sinks, but I don't want to dwell on the reason for her expression.

I try to cover the hurt with a sheepish grin at her, but she's not paying attention to me. She's lost in her own world, with her ice cream. I imagine she's struggling to find the words, and I hold my breath.

Please don't say what I think you want to say.

What went wrong? I wreck my brain, trying to remember the past few dates we've had. All I remember are happy faces, lots of laughter. Was it something I said?

She's talking now, and I can't hear her words over the roar of emotions in my head. "Yeah, yeah, it's been really great, and I just…"

I barely register what she's saying over the sound of gunshot.


	6. Chapter 6

_Oh god, how could I be so stupid?_

I panicked when I heard the gunshot, my medic instincts immediately setting in as I raced towards the source. I was vaguely aware of Jules chasing after me, calling my name. I see the gunshot victim lying helpless in the restaurant while his assailant is still standing over him, terrorizing the other patrons, and all I can think of in that moment is: I've got to get in there, I've got to help him.

And look where that's landed us.

My attempt at playing hero has made both me and Jules hostages of a madman who is ranting non-stop about looking for a man named Riyaz. I suppose I should feel comforted that Jules cared enough not to leave me alone and run in the opposite direction when I insisted on entering the restaurant, but then I recall that she's a cop, and she's trained for situations such as these. Even if I were not in the equation, she would not have turned her backs on these people.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her sending text messages, no doubt to her team who should be on the scene soon. I feel a little relieved then, knowing that should anything happen to me, there would be others looking out for her.

What the hell am I talking about? I cannot and must not let anything happen to me. Who would make sure Jules is alright then?

Jules attempts to talk to the gunman, to appeal to his better side. All the while, the only thing I can do is pray very hard that he doesn't get too agitated and point the gun at her. I don't know what I'll do if he hurts her.

She finally gets him to agree to allow me to work on the injured waiter, whose name is Eric. I'm glad for the distraction, for something to do with my hands. It sure beats having to stand around with my hands in surrender, wondering what the crazy man will do next.

Jules crouches down next to me as I try to stop Eric's bleeding, and regret explodes in my chest. "I'm sorry for getting us into this."

Her touch is fleeting, but it says so much. "You were just trying to help," she tells me, and I hear the sadness in her voice.

Not for the first time, I regret my impulse; I regret that I forgot who I was with when I rushed into the restaurant. Putting Jules in danger is the last thing I ever wanted to do, yet I have done just that. She might understand the instinct to save, but I will never forgive myself.

\------------------------------------

It's only been an hour, yet I feel as if a lifetime has passed.

Jules has been talking to Davis – the gunman – all this time, and her voice has remained steady, unwavering. She's been in control. Me? I feel like the earth has been pulled from under my feet, and bile rising up in my throat as I look down at Eric's body.

The man holding the gun is a murderer.

I don't understand how Jules can talk to him with such understanding in her voice. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know she's trying to empathize and to calm him down before he shoots someone else, but anger is building up in me. Anger at Davis for shooting Eric and killing him, and anger at myself for putting us in danger.

It's irrational, I know, because something is not right with Davis. I've seen too many cases of hallucinating individuals not to recognize the signs. I don't know if he's just high on drugs or if he has a serious underlying mental illness, but at this moment, I don't really care. All I want is to get out of here, hold Jules in my arms and apologize a thousand times for being so stupid.

Angela, the waitress, has become hysterical since I told her that Eric is dead and I can do no more for him. It's not an easy thing to say, but today it was especially difficult. I couldn't get the words out past my throat, and it felt like they were choking me.

Jules is still keeping her cool, and I admire her level-headedness. God knows I could use some of that right now. Davis has trained his gun on Angela, thinking she's a black widow, a terrorist suicide bomber, and fear as I've never known overcomes me as Jules moves closer and closer to Angela.

Please stay where you are.

Davis is panicking, his gun hand wavering between Jules and Angela. I can't let him shoot Jules, nor can I let him shoot Angela. So, without thinking, I leap straight for Angela, hoping that the distraction would halt Davis.

What I wasn't counting on was the gun going off at the same time.

\---------------------------------------------

Getting shot is not the same as tending a gunshot wound.

That's the first thought that comes into my mind as Angela and I land on the floor, a searing pain creeping through my body.

I've seen plenty of gunshot wounds; the good, the bad, and the downright ugly. Many times I've had to clean up excess blood on a body, and I tell you, such a sight is not for the weak-stomached.

You'd think that sort of experience prepares you, but now I can rightfully say that there's nothing in life that can really prepare you for the experience of being on the other side of the barrel, and feeling the bullet pierce through your skin.

There's a sort of haze that forms in your mind upon first contact; a sort of disbelief, if you will. Slowly, you start becoming cognizant of a pain spreading around your body. It's not really an instant explosion of pain; rather, it seeps through your entire being like a slow virus aiming to annihilate.

And it's not just where you've been shot that hurts. You feel the pain from your head down to your toes, and there's no way to relief that pain.

I see stars in my eyes, and I try blinking several times in an attempt to wash them out. I barely make out Jules' concern face, and belatedly I register that she's talking to me.

"I'm okay," I grit out. No one tells you that it takes so much effort to form two simple words. Nor do they tell you that puffing air out from your lungs makes you feel like you've run for ten miles.

Jules is still hovering over me, and through the haze of pain I hear her talking to someone. Davis, perhaps? I look at the pictures on the wall, trying to concentrate on my breathing. Wouldn't help anyone if I went into shock now.

"I'm just going to change this, okay? Don't try to be the tough guy. I know what it feels like, I've been shot before. I know how much pain you're in."

Her words are a soft whisper, she's afraid Davis will hear her. But they are ringing in my ears, and I wish that getting shot isn't the one of the few things we have in common. I could definitely live without knowing how this feels like.

Her face is contorted in worry as she grabs napkins and places them against my wound, and my mind begins to clear as the pain starts localizing on my left side.

I give a slight hiss of pain, and then try to joke. "So how'd you like the date so far?"

I'm rewarded with one of Jules' smiles, although it's sad and tinged with regret. "You really know how to keep a girl on her toes, huh?"

This is what I really like about Jules – her quick wit and her fantastic sense of humor, and her ability to see the good in every situation. I used to think that given her line of work, she would be extremely cynical and pessimistic, but after having spent time with her, I know she's anything but that. She has a big heart, and she always has a quick word to lighten up any situation.

"Wait 'til you see what I'm planning for the next one," I tell her, sarcasm lacing my tone. I don't even know if I'm going to survive this one. From her expression, I know my wound is bleeding badly, and the longer we stay here, the less chance I have at surviving. Even if the wound is clean and didn't hit anything major, blood loss could easily do me in.

I try to laugh, but the only sound is a harsh bark. I feel my body shaking, and I recognize the signs immediately.

"Hey Steve, you're shivering," Jules is getting worried; she knows as well as I know that time is slowly but surely running out. She puts two fingers to my neck, looking for my pulse, and that simple touch feels like heaven.

"Your heart's racing really fast." Now she sounds like she's going to panic, and I can't have that. Of everyone in this restaurant, the only one who cannot and must not panic is Jules. She's the thread that's holding us all together. She's the thread keeping me together.

"Yeah, I'm cold," my voice sounds foreign to my ears. "I'm just going into shock."

"I'm gonna go get your jacket," she tells me.

NO! my mind shouts. Don't leave me! No sound comes out, so instead I clutch Jules' hand, applying as much pressure as I can.

"No, no…" I manage to rasp out. I don't think I can deal with her leaving my side at this moment. I don't want her to be more than an inch away from me. I need her here, by my side, holding my hand.

She relents, and I breathe a small sigh of relief. "All right. Look at me, you're going to be okay."

I try to smile at her words, but even that is taking too much effort. I hope she believes her words, but at this moment, I think she's only grasping at straws.

"I'm an idiot," I say. A big, fat, stupid, idiot. I tried to play hero, thinking it would impress Jules, and look where that's gotten us. Hostages of a madman, and I'm repainting the restaurant floor. Now I'm not so sure I knew what was going through my mind when I ran here.

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm bleeding out; I might as well be honest with myself, if not anybody else. I ran into the restaurant because the adrenaline attracts me, and I live for it, but also because I want to show Jules that I'm at least half as brave as the guys she works with. When she talks about them, a glow suffuses her face and I can tell she's so damned proud of them and the risks they take all the time. I want her to talk about me like that too, so I took the first opportunity that came my way. Unfortunately, I didn't think about how wrong things could go.

"You're not. It's not your fault."

Damn, even now she's comforting me. I bet she's thinking that I'm the biggest idiot in the whole world, and she's taking pity on me and being nice.

"No, I mean I shouldn't have waited so long to ask you out."

I'm an idiot for running into the restaurant, but it's even more glaringly obvious by the minute that I'm an even bigger idiot for waiting so long to ask Jules out. I'm a little ashamed at confessing all in public, and I think Jules is stunned at my words.

But the words are true, so I don't regret them. I might as tell her now, in the event that I don't make it, at least she'll know how I really feel about her. I should've asked her out back in high school, before Curtis even came into the picture. We'd probably have been married with two kids, a dog and a white picket fence by now.

"Let's save the deathbed confession for fifty years from now, okay?"

I smile at this, imagining a white-haired Jules at my bedside before I breathe my last. In this instant, I know that's what I want. My life will be complete, and I will die a happy man, if Jules is with me till the end. There will be nothing to want, or need. Just Jules.

"You gonna be there?" I hear the hope in my voice, and immediately I feel stupid for putting my feelings out there in the open. Nothing hurts quite like rejection in a public place where you're bleeding out.

I hold my breath waiting for her answer, but Jules just keeps quiet.

And in that moment, I know. I've got my answer.


	7. Chapter 7

Jules' expression has turned sad, and in that moment, realization washes over me. As much as Jules is the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, I'm not the man she imagines doing the same with.

It makes me wonder whom she could be thinking of, if she already has someone in mind, or if she's still waiting for the right man to come along. Jealousy spreads through me, and I try picturing the lucky bastard who will wake up next to Jules each morning. What kind of man would he be? Would he be a cop, like her? Or some other law enforcement type?

I'm distracted from my thoughts, because at that moment Sam Braddock has burst into the restaurant and he's talking to Davis, telling him some tall tale about being a soldier. A sudden thought crosses my mind: Is this soldier Jules' type?

Jules tackles Davis for the gun, and in one horrible moment, I hear another shot and my blood runs cold. It isn't until I see Jules handing Davis over to Sam, letting the other Constable cuff him, that I tell myself it's all okay and that we're all okay.

I expect that Jules, having been relieved of the duty of subduing Davis, would turn her attention back to me. Instead, she's trading looks with Sam again, and my gut clenches. They've shared so many looks, yet I've never felt more left out than I have now.

They seem to be in their own world, the rest of us ceasing to exist for them. It's so painful to watch them, because I've come to realization that this man is who Jules wants to spend the rest of her life with, even if she doesn't know it yet. There is more than just simple admiration or mutual attraction.

In that moment, I know I must let her go. I cannot selfishly hold onto Jules, no matter how much I long to. Doing so will only hurt us both in the long run, and I cannot do that to Jules. Not when I care for her so much.

It hurts me, knowing that if only I had been there first, I might have stood the better chance. But it's not meant to be, is it?

I don't even hold a glimmer of hope when Jules tells me that she's going with me to the hospital. I'm touched by her offer of being there when I wake up, just so I won't be alone, but deep down, I know she will do the same for anyone she considers a friend.

And if I'm nothing else to her, I know that at least I'm her friend. That's all she's been treating me as since we met again, and that's all I will ever be to her. I will never be the man whom she kisses longing, and whose arms she melts into.

"Your team needs you," I tell her, but what I really want to say is "Sam needs you." I can see him from the corner of my eye, looking in at us, but holding himself away. I think he might feel the same way for Jules, but I'm not sure. I haven't paid much attention to him in the past.

"Are you sure?" I hear the warring emotions that she's battling; between wanting to stay with me fighting with her desire to be out there with her team. It's not an easy choice, and again I'm touched that she cares enough to bother, to want to stay with me.

Please stay, I silently beg her. Say you'll stay with me.

But I know there's no use for her staying back when she is a valuable member of her team and could contribute so much more.

"Yeah, I'll be alright," I lie. I will be anything but all right.

\------------------------------------------------

I squint against the harsh overhead lights, registering a faint beeping sound in the background. My vision is blurred, and for a moment, I wonder where I am. The familiar smell of disinfectant hits my nose then, and I remember.

I'm in the hospital.

It all comes flooding back to me now. Date with Jules, getting held hostage by a mad man, getting shot.

My vision clears, and I stir a little, aware of a figure sitting by my bedside. The figure notices my movement, and climbs up onto the bed. It's Jules.

"Hey." Her smile is blinding, and I find myself grinning weakly back at her.

"How're you feeling?" The concern is evident in her eyes, and from the way she's looking at me, I know she'll able to tell if I'm not truthful.

So I opt for honesty. "Better now." It's true; now that Jules is here, I find that the pain is subsiding and becoming more bearable.

Jules takes my right hand, holding it tightly in hers. It's the first time she's ever held my hand. I let myself enjoy the pressure, the feel of her tiny hands in mine. It's only for tonight, I tell myself.

"Can I just say something?" I rasp out, slightly horrified at how hoarse my voice sounds.

Jules nods. "Sure."

I take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Last few months, I've been doing a lot of thinking. It's about the big picture."

Jules has averted her eyes, so I can't see her expression. I have a pretty good inkling of what she's thinking though, but I steel myself.

"Yeah, I have too."

She has? I allow hope to flutter in my chest for a moment, before I bring myself back down to earth.

"There's family, future and stuff," I tell her.

Why am I saying this now? Why does it seem so important that I tell her all this now? Can't it wait, 'til after I'm discharged?

I clear my throat, trying to force the words out. "What I'm guessing is… your big picture's not the same."

Jules lets out a nervous laugh, and my heart shatters. It's not a sound I want to hear, although I can't say it was unexpected. After today's events, everything has become crystal clear to me. I want her to deny it, and say she chose me, that I'm the one she wants to spend the rest of her life with, but her flustered giggles are telling me otherwise.

She's crying, tears rolling down her cheeks. I desperately want to wipe them away and gather her in my arms, but I cannot. I must not. Because the moment Jules is in my arms, all my nerves will falter and I won't be able to finish what I started.

"You're in mine, but I don't think I'm in yours."

Deny it, please. Deny it.

"Hey… it's okay. It's all good." I hear my voice telling her, but it sounds so foreign to me. I can't believe I'm comforting the woman I'm breaking up with, not when I'm breaking up with her because I know she's not in love with me.

"There's no regrets," I tell her. As the words leave my mouth, I realize they are true. I will have no regrets having known Julianna Callaghan, no regrets over having her in my life. Even if she can't give me her love, her friendship is an equally precious gift.

I pause. "Well, almost no regrets."

I feel my grin threatening to break out, and Jules looks even more striken if that's even possible.

She brushes one hand across her face, wiping her tears away. "What do you mean?"

"Never got to finish our ice cream." We stare at each other for a moment, and then laughter overcomes us. It's a lighthearted moment two friends share, and I like this easygoing banter with Jules. It makes everything seem normal again.

Jules kisses my hand again, and this time I sense the friendship beneath it. There's no hidden meaning, no promise of hopeless love. Just friendship.

"Just want a favor," I tell her.

"Anything."

"Promise me," I hold her gaze, wanting this moment to be imprinted in my heart forever. "Keep singing."

And then Jules smiles, the most beautiful sight I've ever had the fortune to lay eyes on. A pang fills my heart, but I will it to go away, determined to hang onto the good things that have come my way instead of the dwelling on the things that could have been.

_Almost no regrets._


End file.
